When in Doubt, Don't
by PrettyPet
Summary: What would happen if Mr. Knightley arranged to stay in London until he got over Emma? Would Emma use her matchmaking skills to benefit her own interests? Picking up after Mr. Knightley goes to London and after Emma understands her heart. What might have happened if the ending was drawn out just a little, would Mr. Knightley get his wish-seeing Emma in doubt of love's return? R&R
1. Chapter 1

**In Doubt of A Return**

 **by PrettyPet**

"I have no idea that she has yet ever seen a man she cared for. It would not be a bad thing for her to be very much in love with a proper object. I should like to see Emma in love, and in some doubt of a return; it would do her good." - Mr. Knightley _Emma_ , chapter 5

AU – What would happen if Mr. Knightley intended to stay in London until he got over Emma? Picking up after Mr. Knightley decides to go to London and after Emma learns there has been a massive miscommunication.

 _All characters belong to the beautiful mind of Jane Austen. Here is my imaginings of what might have happened if the ending was drawn out just a little. Just maybe would have his wish!_

* * *

She had never been to the sea but Emma felt she could well imagine the feeling of being tossed around violently in the trashing waves.

It must have been chaos; it must have felt something like this.

She had lived so much of her life sailing on perfectly clear seas, and in an instant she was Robinson Crusoe amidst the shipwreck or perhaps a helpless pawn staring direct into the heart of Shakespeare's Tempest.

Her closets neighbour— no, more than that, her closest friend was leaving Highbury. And worse, even when she had pressed him on it, Mr. Knightley had given no indication of when he thought to return.

As sudden as the trip was, he said he had been considering it for some duration and was finally going. Evidently, he had not planned in greater detail than that.

The worst of it was she couldn't help but feel she had not yet regained her footing yet in his regard. They had yet to interact together in the jovial and pleasant way they were accustomed. Since Box Hill, things had not been the same. She felt that there was little she could do to repair the fissure; time would have to take its course. Yet it felt unfair at the same time; afterall, Miss Bates had re-ingratiated Emma into their good opinion after a few hours spent in her company. Mr. Knightley, though at best a second party in the original offense, was not so quick to forgive her. It was tangibly different, he had been stiffer, more formal and she felt less esteemed by her closest friend. The fall from grace was keenly felt and his departure meant the feeling was likely to last until he felt it prudent to return to Highbury—his timing almost felt cruel as it was going to undoubtedly prolong the miserable feeling of being punished.

Her friend had left for London; she was quite sure if not for her father, she would not have seen him beforehand. His reasoning was obvious to her, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Donwell was located nearer to London than Hartfield. In past month Emma was certain he would have backtracked solely to talk to her before leaving Highbury for just a day trip—it was obvious to her that she was not yet restored in his favour. Still, he came to sit for a very short duration before bidding them both well and leaving direct to London from their very door.

* * *

She knew it would be difficult, that her friend's absence would be profoundly noticed but she truly had no idea.

The next few weeks had scraped past and it felt as if each day had come and brought with it a renewed sense of what the highest point of frustration felt like.

Isabella had written twice, first to say that all was well, Mr. Knightley had arrived, and then to inform them that Mr. Knightley had spent the first few days with them at Brunswick Square and then he had let a house of his own near enough to theirs to please all.

Emma felt positively ill at the news. Mr. Knightley had always gone to London with the express intention of being near his brother and his nieces and nephews. His trips were never long enough to make one wish for more of one's own space. It was dreadful news and she could not rightly answer for the panicked feeling she felt pressing in her chest. She knew he would be in London longer than she could ever have expected.

Mr. Knightley's own letter arrive a few long days after Isabella's second letter –it was clearly written for her father, as he mentioned in detail the freshness of the air and the distinct lack of draughts, and she was not mentioned at all saved for the finale which requested his regards be given to her.

She felt annoyed. In his absence, who did he think would read the letter to her father and pen the reply? Was he still so cross with her that he could not enclose a simple note to her attention? It vexed her to no end that she was merely addressed in the closure of the letter.

How could he? He was her dearest friend. How could he have left to London before she had been given the chance to right things fully between them? Surly his absence would not have been so painful if he had left her on an amiable footing. Then he would have written the letter with mentions to her and special comments and anecdotes that were no doubt added solely for her interest. How things had been left between them and Mr. Knightley letter absorbed her thoughts and she could hardly focus on her way to Mrs. Weston's.

The violent sea continued to rail against her, passing the post office, Miss. Cole flagged her down and gave a quick testimony of what she had just heard from her father. Donwell Abbey was to have visitors; a Sir Thomas Browning and his wife—close friends of Mr. Knightley.

It simply could not be. Afterall, who were the Coles to be relied upon for testimony on a subject such as this? Donwell would never be let to anyone, it just wasn't the way of things in Highbury. Owning more land than anyone else in Highbury, Mr. Knightley was well set up financially. And as such, there could be no motive for it. It was idle gossip, the kind which Emma would not be partial to. She told Miss. Cole, with as much tact as she could manage, that her father must be mistaken and continued towards the Weston's. Despite her confidence on the matter, her mind continued to race and she felt suddenly in doubt of everything. For the first time in her life wishing she had taken a carriage rather than walked the normally comfortable distance to Weston's.

Her mind made hast in seeking answers. Surely Mr. Knightley would have mentioned it in his letter; it was not the sort of shock he would wish to expose her father to. He would not want his closest friends to find out from someone other than himself. It was a silly thing to even consider worrying about.

It had no merit and it reinforced her belief that people in trade were where they found themselves in the eyes of society for all the right reasons.

Since the arms of a friend always are a comfort and because of her thoughts plagued her so, the arms of Mrs. Weston were a very welcome relief. Yet, on deeper inspection, it seemed her friend was holding in some type of news. From the pained expression and her tone as she asked Emma to sit first, it was sure to be bad news. Emma felt panic leap forward within her immediately. Already overwrought, her mind produced the wildest of conclusions. Father? Could something have happened during her short journey here? Surly that was impossible! Mr. Knightley? Isabella? One of the children? Had someone she loved come to some harm? What had happened? She demanded to be told quickly, feeling her heart in her throat and tears brimming.

It was nothing of the kind. It was to say that Frank Churchill had been secretly engaged to Jane Fairfax, all the time and longer than he had been known in Highbury. It was shocking news to be sure, but part of her did not feel the presence of mind or energy that would be required to take it up fully. It was absurd news, the most ludicrous news she had heard in all her life. In took her long minutes to realize what the news really meant in its entirety; suddenly she was struck with compassion for her friend. Harriet once more would be given crushing news, once more it fall to Emma to be the deliverer of such unfortunate news.

In the face of the tiredness she felt sweeping through her and the low buzzing angst within her mind, she had no choice but to continue straight away to Mrs. Goddard's. Her mind was restless and she felt as if at every turn she was taking on more water. Mrs. Weston had confided in her about Frank Churchill and the liaison with Jane Fairfax. Now, despite her tussled mental state, she needed to covey the news to her dear friend, with careful tact as to not hurt her more deeply. If nothing else, she had encouraged Harriet to hope, and for this reason she could not stand to allow her friend to learn of the news from another person.

The sea rolled violently once more in Harriet's small room in Mrs. Goddard's academy. News that should have disturbed and shaken brought no strong reaction.

Harriet's confession was the biggest shock of all. The deluge that accompanied that ocean swell overwhelmed every thought and sensation—Emma realized instinctively that she could not bear a single drop of water more. She removed herself from the situation as quickly as she was able; tact seeming to become less important as the furious sea waves crashed against her, roll after roll with no reprieve.

She rushed toward home with frantic foot falls.

He could not be in love with Harriet. No matter what Harriet believed to be true, it could not be.

The strong thought that had seized her mind while she listened to Harriet's confession was that Mr. Knightley should marry no one but herself. This thought was robust despite the tiredness and chaos that had been afflicting her. She knew at once that she had never known her own heart as well as she did at that moment. Her mind answered quickly that Mr. Knightley could not have loved her in return; one did not leave the side of one the cherished of their own volition.

Just the same, Mr. Knightley could not be in love with Harriet. Harriet was not in London; it was not realistic to think that he would depart—unless he was taking the time any prudent man would take in order to be very certain before making a decision that would change everything. Marrying Harriet would change everything; one such as Mr. Knightley would indubitably want to give such a decision a great deal of earnest thought. In this case, it might be practical to seek a reprieve in order to examine with thoughts that were not augmented or addled by the proximity of the loved one.

He was in love with Harriet.

Her heart tensed sharply in the throes of that capsizing wave.

The pain was too much. How did one bare pain such as this with brave fortitude? Perhaps one didn't; she had taken on too much water and the repercussion was that tears were streaming down her face. She would have to take the long way back as to be certain that she wasn't seen in this state.

* * *

She resolved she must do something. Afterall, how could she live with the thought that while there was still time, still a marginal chance to help her dear friend see reason, that she sat idle and allowed every moment to pass her by.

She could not.

How could she give up her sole chance as convincing her dearest love that she was more than a petulant child, his closest friend and kindly neighbour?

She would not.

She came to the conclusion that she would have to go to London. There was no other option. She would need to have a skillful plan; thankfully she had spent her youth the mastermind of many plans and felt confident that she could carry out any plan she put her mind to.

The critical piece was that she could not abandon her father in order to go to London; and her father would never concede to go to London, dirty as it was imagined and with the air as poor as he believed—it would be impossible.

Someone looking inward may have thought his constant worry and nervous temperament was vexing but Emma never had. It as much revealed his personality as it reflected his deep care for all around him. And to his credit, her father was an understanding man, a deeply compassionate father and there was no denying that he only wanted the best for both his daughters. Yet, she knew before attempting out that she could not convince him to travel to London—at least not without an incredible risk.

She resolved she must tell her father what it was she felt for Mr. Knightley. She knew her father would never misuse or share the information with another; he was the most loyal of souls. There was no person she trusted equally; save for Mr. Knightley himself.

"Father, are you quite warm?" she asked siting his tea near him, and tucking the lap blanket tighter at his side.

He nodded his contentment; silence was normally as sign of such a state, as any worry or improving suggestion was always voiced immediately out of concern for the well-being of all.

"Father, I have something to confide in you—I" she paused drawing on bravery to continue, if she was not sure she loved Mr. Knightley so well, she never could have continued, "I am not sure how you will take what I say, but I know that you love me so well and I trust that you will understand."

"Dear me Emma, what is it? It sounds as if you are about to reveal something dreadful,"

"It isn't dreadful, well not entirely. Father, in the last few days I have been seeking my heart on the subject of my feelings and I have come to understand that I care very deeply for Mr. Knightley," she explained.

"Well of course, as do I, and as we all do," her father agreed wholeheartedly.

She found herself chuckling lightly contrary to the nervous energy that coursed through her body, "What I mean to say, Father, is that I think I have come to be very much _in love_ with him. I do not exactly know when I began to feel this. I was not aware that I loved him until a few short days ago but since I discovered this feeling it has been impossible to ignore. I am very certain the love I feel has been stowed deep within my heart for a very long while because the roots are impossibly deep,"

"My dear," he breathed out in the truest shock. A feeling she could very much identify with.

"I know it is alarming to be exposed to the idea all at once, I can fully sympathize" Emma agreed with a compassionate smile, "I must stress that Mr. Knightley has done nothing to encourage this feeling and I have not told him of it. It was not the source of his departure," she offered with a dark humour.

Her Father made a grunting noise that told her he was listening but he gave her no advice and voiced no worry.

"The truth is that I am fearful that I am too late; has left to London and I am unsure of his return to Hartfield, this trip maybe the last he makes to London as a single man,"

"Surly not," her father disagreed unreservedly.

"Father, I have no claim to him, no more than any friend or neighbour—it is entirely possible that he could be entertaining the idea of marrying another. I could not blame him if he did not see me even as a prospect, afterall, I had no notion of him in such as light until short days ago."

"Darling Emma, no women lives that would challenge you! You are the loveliest and the very best, no one could hold a candle to your charm and goodness," her father encouraged petting her cheek.

"Father, as much as I would love to believe that is true, I have a feeling deep feeling of the contrary—an intuition you might say. The feeling is strong and it tells me that if I fail to act, life may force upon me a different path than I would choose myself,"

"Ah, fate, yes—" he sighed, clearly lost momentarily to some memory or other, probably of his own love story—cut short much too soon by the death of her mother.

"Yes, fate—it is strong when we have no means to stand against it; I, however, have a plan, and to carry it out, I must go to London and be near once more to Mr. Knightley,"

"Surly not Emma! Your plan will keep; you may be near to him here, when he visits at our hearth. Mr. Knightley will return sooner than you expect; afterall, he can never stay away from Highbury long,"

"Father, I have reason to disagree. First, I have must repent of writing a short note to Mr. Knightley without your knowledge; but it was only to the express purpose of ascertaining if there was truth to the rumor that he has let out Donwell Abbey,"

"He would not," he father echoed her own distain at the notion.

"In that respect you are correct; he does not receive any payment for the service but has given it up for a friend in kindness—to much the same effect. He has agreed to allow his very dear friends to spend until the fall residing at Donwell. It is part of the prescription to help the wife recover from a long and taxing illness; our climate, gentle solitude and the fresh air of the Highbury countryside are recommended for her well-being,"

"I would never have believed it but from you Emma," he father offered with disquiet.

"Nor I, but to hear it from Mr. Knightley himself! Yet as it is confirmed—it makes it very clear that I must go to London. I must take a risk to save my heart from a lifetime of misery. As I could never leave you Father, although I know it goes against your every grain, your very inclination for safety and your every fear, I must entreat with you to join me."

"What do you mean do in London, quarrel with fate?" he asked softly, he knew well the vibrancy of her spirit and strength of her mind once applied to any task.

"I mean to do what I have always done for others; I mean to set my mind to make a match with Mr. Knightley,"

"Very well my dear, I will abide with your plans, but you must agree to every precaution—shawls, veils, lap blankets for the carriage, emulsions, the most competent of coachmen, scarfs, smelling salts, laudanum, cold compresses, clean sheets, long wool socks, cod liver oil—"

Emma sat staring at her father in shock, his list continued into the night and she couldn't fully comprehend that he had agreed, with so little real effort. She had set her mind to spending many nights of pleading, convincing and explaining, and here in one short evening he was drawing up a list of supplies and precautions.

* * *

The drawing room at Brunswick Square was warm and relatively subdued. The intermittent turning of pages as George Knightley read the paper, the occasional grunt from John Knightley as he burrow himself in his ledger, solving remaining work left over from the day.

Isabella joined them as soon as the children were in bed, "Oh, George, you've arrived!" she exclaimed cheerfully—expression an emotion he was not able to relate to in the recent weeks—and almost vexing him in the process. He willed himself to be at ease, to see her cheerfulness without envy; without thinking of the fact her eyes took on the exact same glint that Emma's did under the same conditions.

"You both will not believe it!" She exclaimed, pulling the letter from her pocket—and opening it with a dramatic flourish. "You will never guess what news I have from Hartfield," she added with glee.

Indeed, he felt he could guess.

He'd heard it just before receiving the note from Emma asking if he had let out Donwell. He'd heard it from the Coles; even those in trade had beaten poor Isabella to the punch—but at least Isabella was accustom to coming in second. She'd known no other occupation since her sister's first coos transfixed every audience since her birth.

Frank Churchill was secretly engaged to Jane Fairfax, poor thing. Yes, he'd heard it days ago and yes, it was admittedly shocking,

He knew the instant he heard it that he had been a fool. The shocking news about the Churchill/Fairfax union reinforced the fact that he had acted rashly. He'd agreed weeks ago that his good friends the Browning's would stay at Donwell Abbey. They would enjoy Donwell in all of its solitude and splendor, while the Lady recovered from her illness and in turn he would spend his time it London recovering from his own brand of weakness. If one could recover from such a feeling that is. He had no choice but to try it.

It had seemed the perfect solution at the time. He was keen not to sit and watch as Emma flirted and giggled with Frank Churchill—while they fell in love. He would not force himself to smile while his dearest love acted out her interest for another in obnoxious display before his eyes. He was no glutton for punishment, he would not bring that upon himself. He would do what any wise man might do in a situation of love unrequited. He would not pretend at bravery, he would stay away from the source of its sting.

He had decided firmly with himself that he would leave to London and would not return until things were settled on account of Emma. Yet, he was not so strong or self-confident to imagine he could resist returning; Emma called to him at all hours, it was a siren's song indeed.

It seemed almost providential that his friends were looking to let a house in the country. It was the perfect solution; to give up use of his house would mean that he would not have a place to return until Fall. He could not be tempted back to Highbury no matter his emotions and surly he could convince his heart to feel differently by then. Or until Emma settled the matter by agreeing to marry Churchill.

Now he felt his blunder, his friend would be alone to sooth her heartache; the aged wisdom in him thought maybe she would learn better without him there to pick up the pieces. Mostly he felt that attitude of his softer side, the part of him that had always sought to console Emma and clear the path ahead of her of anything that might hurt or hinder her.

Regardless of the situation, he was not a man known to be fickle. He was a man of his word and he would stand by his agreement with the Browning's, despite the change in events. As sorry as he was to leave his friend in a place of heartbreak, what else could be done about it?

"Isabella, surly you talk of the expected union between Jane Fairfax and Frank Churchill," he replied dryly not belaying any of his feelings, "friends from Highbury have talked of nothing else for the last two days," he offered sounding almost bored; if only to assure her that she wasn't as up on the gossip as she may have thought.

Besides, if her letter from Emma looked anything like his own, it was curt and to the point. Hardly the source of tantalizing gossip-it was hardly worth the effort of the messenger.

 _Mr. Knightley,_

 _I have heard a rumour that you have let out Donwell Abbey. I'm sure my gasp of distain could be heard even in London. I told the person that they were unfortunately mistaken. I feel foolish to even ask such an asinine question but please reply with your word on the matter._

 _Emma_

Isabella laughed at his remark, "Goodness no, that is old news!" she agreed. "No, what I speak of now is something you will truly never guess," she assured him, looking every bit the cat that got the canary.

He kept his silence, part of him wanted to ask her nothing about it just to see her stir with impatience, she would likely suffer more trying to keep it in than he would suffer from not being told.

He shook his head, "Go on," he offered smoothly, keeping his uninterested tone.

"My sister—"she cut her herself off with a happy squeal.

Emma what? His mind reeled frantically trying to land on what might bring such elation to Isabella.

He could think of only one thing that ladies generally squealed about: engagements. Emma could not be engaged, she was certainly not— not with Frank Churchill having spoken in favour of Jane.

He felt a sense of dread washing over him. Maybe it was not Frank Churchill that had Emma's attention, some other figure, some other man? But who? Who else in Highbury? No, strike that! Who else in the entire world, was a fit for Emma?

No one. His mind answered sternly. He was certainly not vain enough to think it was him. He'd enjoyed the privilege of calling her friend; though socially of the same status, Emma was the height of the stars above any other person in his acquaintance—she graced them all with her presence.

"Emma what?" He asked quickly, unable to stand not knowing a second longer. It was entirely unbearable.

She beamed at her ability to capture his interest.

"You positively won't believe it! Emma and my father are coming to London to stay at Brunswick Square!" she announced with excited zeal.

"Surly not!" remark John, raising his head from his ledger for the first time all evening. "How did she manage it?"

"I'm—I am not quite sure," Isabella hummed back. "Maybe she played upon his heart of compassion. His only wish has always been that we would be healthful and happy. There were rumors that Frank had his eye set on Emma. Maybe Emma asked Father for a reprieve from the whole thing, surly the gossips are enough to drive even the most steadfast mad. And afterall, Father must know that she would not be happy to stay in Highbury while Jane and Frank remained there," Isabella speculated.

"But I heard they were to go to Yorkshire shortly, mere days from now," John entered in once again.

"I'll admit, I do not know Father's intentions or how she bent his mind to it, but if anyone could convince anyone, of anything, it would be Emma!" Isabella laughed merrily. Isabella was right, the perfect creature could wrap anyone around her finger in a heartbeat if her applied herself to it.

He felt the deepest sense of contentment, Emma was coming to London. And that in its own way settled things, helped solve for his blunders.

His friend would be near again.

His friend was not attached to Frank Churchill. She was, so far as he knew, not attached to anyone.

Despite his blunders, despite his errors, she would be in London.

Perhaps her whole purpose in the trip was to be near him. Not for the reason his heart would enjoy but for the sake of friendship.

Would one travel so far for a friend? Yes, yes one would—especially one such as Emma—one who invested heavily in order to form deep relationships with only the select few.

Who else did she have? Mrs. Weston was not the best to help one heal after the pain inflicted by Frank Churchill—despite all her good qualities, she could never be bipartisan, not even with the best of intentions. Harriet Smith? He'd just heard from Robert Martin that he intended to make a second offer to the pretty but foolish Miss. Smith (his words not Mr. Martin's)—if the girl had any sense whatsoever Emma would find herself short of yet another friend.

Regardless of her reasons, she would be in London and he would need to carefully decide his course.

* * *

I haven't written a fan fiction in eons! This is my first Emma (and historical piece). Please offer insights, critique and any ideas or suggestions! Do you even like the idea? Should this fiction continue? Also, I found a few places where proper names were eaten -Mrs. Weston for example was taken out of a sentence during the upload. If you spot any of these that I missed, can you be total dears and let me know?

Thanks,

Pretty Pet


	2. Chapter 2

It was settled, Mr. Knightley was not to be joining them this evening. She felt impossibly silly pangs of an emotion she wasn't sure how to name. Needless to say, she was more than a little crestfallen at the news. They'd arrived happy to Brunswick Square in the mid-afternoon, it was so unlike Mr. Knightley not to adjust his plans to best meet her wishes.

The day had started exactly how she might have imagined. Isabella gushed excitedly about her joy and surprise and how excited she was for the visit. She hugged Papa and then got him settled with great speed in front of the fire. The house was already steaming with warmth, but no one complained and the others opted to play outside for some relief.

Emma had been pleased to see her sister and the children and laughed gaily with them as they played in the yard before dinner. But despite all this, her mind was also occupied.

Where was he now?

When would she see him?

Would he receive her with warmth or was she to grovel awhile before her missteps at Box Hill were atoned?

She was not sure on what his expectations might be; she had many follies before, but Mr. Knightley had always hitherto extended the fitting solution and made available plenty of chances for amends.

This situation had not been like the others in that regard. He had called her out on the behaviour, admonished her and left for London shortly after, giving little opportunity and exchanging no words that might suggest that all was well on his account.

Worse yet was the fact that in addition to the absences of his absolution, there was a sense that he was reserving corresponds with her to the strictly practical. He had not written to her in the margins of Papa's letters or addressed any of the content to her. It was as if he had not thought of her at all since his departure or that he was withholding his corresponds because he was still cross with her. Afterall, his reply to her own note was the very picture of brevity.

 _Emma,_

 _Unfortunately, you may have been too hasty to denounce the word of said person. They are correct in the action, but must stand corrected in the idea of letting. I am allowing close friends the use of my estate. You may see them in Highbury shortly; they are good people and I trust all of Highbury will treat them well in my absence._

 _Sincerely,_

 _George Knightley_

Even his note sounded as if it held a hint of reprimand. Or if nothing else an undercurrent of warning, as if he thought she might offend his friends! To be sure, it was watered down by including her within the whole of Highbury, but the poorly veiled implication was not lost on her. He was cautioning her not to embarrass him. Could he not understand that it was a mistake? It was a single misstep at a picnic; a moment of silliness where her mouth ran ahead of her sober second thought! She had no plans to repeat the error for the rest of her life. But why was he so set to hold it against her? Miss. Bates had already granted her clemency; should it be held over her head forever? It was not as if she had made a habit of bringing offense everywhere she went. Heaven forbid he actually thought she would betray their friendship by acting abominably towards his close friends.

She knew she needed to set things right. She was sitting well below par in her relation with Mr. Knightley, because of her foolish actions and somehow she was daring the hope that it might be possible to convince Mr. Knightley to love her back!

She didn't like her odds. Add to it the turn in her stomach. Half of her wanted to see Mr. Knightley as soon as could be arranged and the other half was dreading the way he would look at her.

Would disappointment still be etched onto his features as it was at Box Hill, as it was before he left to London?

Would he be able to raise he eyes to meet hers again? He could hardly force himself to do so at their last meeting.

She had never had so much anxiety over anything; she felt a titch like her dear Papa—riddled with angst and woeful speculation.

Yet, as dinner approached she inquired, about the time John Knightley normally returned home and then in the same gentle tone asked if Mr. Knightley was to be joining them.

She felt her heart fall at Isabella's answer; _he was not to be joining them this evening_.

"Truthfully Emma, I think he was a little perturbed that he did not hear of your trip directly,' Isabella confided.

"He has not written directly about his own plans, letting Donwell!" _his feelings for Harriet Smith_ , this she thought privately. But continue to add, "He has given me no small detail about anything in his correspondence with Papa. I should think he would not mind the very same from me—I did not realize I was expected to act otherwise, and to a higher standard than he!" she told her sister with an exasperated edge, conveying her frustration without care for propriety as only sisters can.

"Yes, remember these Knightley men are full of their own expectations, they do so enjoy writing the rules and applying them with liberty," Isabella admitted. "I have always said that John picked the right career," she offered with a sympathetic smile.

Emma felt relieved; she may have an ally in her own sister in regard to the lack of direct communication at least. It had not been wholly intentional, or at least not something she was fully conscious of her reasoning for. Maybe part of her was worried she would be met with rejection or that he would discourage her and her father from venturing to London. Her father would have changed course without a moment's hesitation at a single word of caution from Mr. Knightley on the topic. She had not been willing to take that chance and as result automatically choose not to confide in him directly.

"So, he has devised to be away, is that it?" Emma let the words hang, not caring if her sister saw through her deep interest or glimpsed her heart as she was taking on the offense.

"He will be at the Gordon's dinner party tomorrow," Isabella told her, "He said he had a previous engagement tonight and did not have the opportunity to adjust his schedule on account of short notice,"

Emma snorted in the most unladylike of fashions, "He said that, did he?" she almost felt like laughing at him but the feeling was cross wired with other sensations, mostly heartache. He certainly did not care for her in the way she had hoped; that much was self-evident.

"It would be frowned upon for him to break the laws of propriety by breaking off invitations that were already accepted just for you, Emma dear," her sister teased.

"Yes well, I have reason to believe his absence is more intentional than that," Emma explained, watching her sister's expression for signs of what she was thinking about that notion.

"I do think he was intending to make a point," Isabella pointed out, Emma laughed; that much was obvious.

"Well of course he is! He would be entirely another person altogether if he did not seek to teach me a lesson at every turn!" Emma exclaimed, feeling relieved at the idea; he would choose to make a point over something like this, and in knowing that, she felt the idea that he was purposely away stung less.

It seemed a much more tolerable motivation for his absence; and yet she knew it was likely not the only moving factor.

"You should know, Mr. Knightley is still very much cross with me for how I behaved many weeks ago at a picnic," Emma confided in her sister, "I own that I was wrong, it was a mistake and I said something hurtful that brought embarrassment to a mutual friend and to myself. Since that time, I have taken every step to rectify things with the injured party. Although very much forgiven by all others, Mr. Knightley seems to expect a higher vision of penance," Emma laughed the last part out, with a degree of force, "he has not told me what I must do to escape his long-lasting disapproval but you should know that things are not quite as they have always been between us,"

"Emma, have you ever considered why Mr. Knightley might—why he does hold you to so much a greater standard?" her sister asked turning her face to look directly at her.

"We have been life-long friends, he has been an instructor of me since my youth, I suppose he would think any misstep on my part would reflect badly on him. He does have his pride! Although in many cases he deserves to be upset, I do think there are occasions where he makes too much of holding my impetuousness against me,"

"I do not think he would," Isabella defended gently.

"Normally I might agree, but this time feels different. It is strange as he has never left before without giving me opportunities to correct my actions first. It is a odd sensation to be away from him, and yet to know that things have not been left on good terms between us and to wonder how I would be received at our next meeting," Emma sighed her honesty bubbling to the surface, she would be frank with Isabella, her sister may not like hearing of Emma's follies but she would understand.

"Oh Emma," Isabella smiled resting her hand on Emma's shoulder before giving an affectionate squeeze, "If he is harsh at all, it is only because he cares for you greatly," and Emma could not help the way her heart soared, though she knew she likely putting different stock into her words than Isabella would have intended.

"I know he cares," Emma sighed, he did care, but not in the way she would want.

"I have wondered, on occasion, if you comprehend how much," Isabella said softly.

"I'm sure I do, especially if there is even the slightest parallel between his care and his scolding," her laugh was hearty and she felt her spirits felt a little lighter.

Her tone was light-hearted but she couldn't help miss Mr. Knightley through the evening. She at times caught hints of him in his brother John's mannerisms or expressions, yet it was not the same and merely accentuated his absence. It caused her to wish that George Knightley was sitting across the table next to John.

* * *

Isabella was sick with a headache, naturally her Papa stayed home, believing the illness Isabella had contracted to be safer than the unknown aliments any of the party guest may be carrying. It was so like her Papa to allow the hint of illness to cause superfluous fear and anxiety. As if the presence of any sickness reinforced the idea that one could get sick and reminded him of the need for expressed caution to avoid encountering it.

Isabella said their acceptance of the invitation could not be retracted, without a large degree of rudeness and causing unnecessary offense. As a result, it was Emma and her brother-in-law who made their way to Gordon's that evening.

She felt the evening mostly entertaining and was only slightly upset by the fact that Mr. Knightley arrived later than anyone else. The rest of the party aside from herself seemed completely fine to expect his arrival just before dinner was served. It was later explained to her by the host, Mrs. Gordon that Mr. Knightley had said he was returning from Rochester, Kent and had given fair warning that he was to be late to join their party.

When he did arrive, everything in her swelled with excitement; it took every thought and bit of energy she had to refrain from rushing to him; half a mind to beg forgiveness and the other half to draw him to her in a warm embrace. She loved him so dearly, it took all her self-restraint to stand back and allow others to welcome him.

"John," he nodded to his brother, "Emma," he acknowledged her after what felt like ages.

"Mr. Knightley," she spoke out. She caught herself mid-curtsy and her face burned ; she had not intended to be so formal but was caught up in her attempt of self-restraint and found herself mimicking the actions of the others in the group. For the longest time she could not meet his eyes. At dinner, she could not have been seated further from had the host purposefully tried. The Gordon's middle daughter sat nearest her and was a fairly easy conversationalist. She had an interest in many topics, but despite the enjoyable conversation she felt her eyes seeking out 's form or attempting to see what he was doing; her ears strained to hear even the slightest hints of his rich baritone. She felt her attempt at conversation with the Gordon's daughter was slightly mired by her insatiable desire to know, see and hear more of Mr. Knightley. Conversely, his eyes did not seek her out and she found it challenging to hear anything about him, spoken to him or phrased by him, despite her best efforts. She eventually gave up her attempts and diverted her full attention to those near enough for genuine conversation.

After dinner it was expected that the men would leave to one room, to drink and converse and the women to another for conversation; the men would re-join the women after a sometime.

Emma felt a pressing need to break from the protocol. If one were to consider the situation in isolation, it would not be so untoward; afterall John who she had arrived with and George Knightley were her only real connections at the dinner party. Could anyone really fault her for joining them? While conversation had been tolerable at dinner, she could not bear to only see from across the room for the rest of the evening.

Surly, if he had made no real efforts to speak to her before dinner, while in open territory, then she must bring herself to venture into foreign territory, the area the men reserved for themselves, where they laughed and gathered after dinner. What choice did she have?

She felt she did not care about what others may think or say about it. Besides, how many times had she sat next to Mr. Knightley and her own father after dinner? No one should see any difference in this.

She felt the most assured confidence in stepping through the doorway; no one could meet her with reproach or speculate anything amiss. Afterall, she sought out her brother-in-law and dearest family friend; there could be nothing reproachful found in it.

Yet, as all eyes fell on her, she instantly felt a surge of anxiety—a slight flicker of trepidation. Maybe her actions had been a little bit presumptuous. All the chairs were occupied, however each man stood quickly, as if they were shocked at her entrance and it had caused a sudden and mass appeal to formality for lack of any better ideas.

"Sorry, I have no wish to disturb you, I simply wish to speak to a friend," She offered in explanation, and moved into the room to stand next to Mr. Knightley, his eyes looking at her with traces of shock.

And still they all stood behind her, as if waiting for an order, "Please gentlemen, be at your leisure. I have no wish to cause you unease, and I'll will be here just a few moments" She assured with more confidence that she truly felt.

"Emma?" spoke, his voice toying with the tone he sometimes took on when thinking to reprimand her and some other emotion she could not precisely pinpoint. Or maybe it was concern. Either way the true intention behind his tone may have been modified by his shock.

"I did not mean to alarm you, or to bring you displeasure," she offered first.

"Nothing is the matter then?" he asked sounding more relaxed but still standing, the others in the room had sat with some reluctance but still gave her the whole of their attention. It was a strange thing to have her break custom and join them.

"No, nothing is wrong. I felt as I came with John nothing could be wrong with joining him and this party, when our groups divided; though Mrs. Gordon did seem a little shocked and I dare say her husband bears some resemblance to her reaction," Emma acknowledged.

"As long as you sure in your logic, you will hear no complaint from me over the outcome, but it seems not to have escaped my notice that while John sits there, and you stand here next to me," Mr. Knightley answered.

"Your powers of observation are keen Mr. Knightley," she smiled back. "Will you not sit and be at ease as the others are?"

"Yes, well perhaps I'm still waiting for your curtsy," he offered with a tone of teasing.

"You may tease me about many things but not about that," she instructed.

"I suppose a curtsy would make little difference, I can hardly sit while you remain standing," he assured her with a hint of humour still.

"Do not find humour in my errors . It is a serious matter at hand. I am trying to negotiate how our friendship should be, as I believe that despite your attempts at humour, you are still cross with me. I however, cannot stand it any longer; and I do not wish to stand outside of your good opinion,"

"Emma, I am not angry at you. At present, I cannot own to feeling anything aside from compassion. I will not name the man, and this is not the place for more to be said on the subject, and in truth, you owe no explanation to me. Simply know that I extend no judgement towards you and mean only to sympathize. You must know, despite what they may feel like now, the wounds will fade with time,"

"Well truly, I own it as its own form of embarrassment, but I must confess I have no reason to feel wronged. I do wish you to have an explanation on the matter; as it is you who knows my heart near as well as I do, you should hear it directly from me. There was a time when I did question what it was I felt towards him, but on reflection I understood that my heart was not attached. In many ways this perhaps makes my actions all the worse. However, I trust that you will believe me when I say that if at any point I had felt we were not simply joking and making fun, then I would have ceased at once. I am sorry to own that I feel nothing but embarrassed, and it is shameful to think of what Jane must have been thinking all the while! I admit, he did take advantage in that regard but for more than that I cannot claim offense."

"Thank you for telling me, Emma. He may be a scoundrel, but feel less inclined to attack him in the street, should our paths cross," Mr. Knightley admitted dryly.

"Oh, that is too bad. I was hoping that perhaps with your anger diverted in his direction you might find yourself feeling less angry with me," she hummed back. Moving to sit on the arm of the chair, though Mr. Knightley still stood.

"And what makes you believe I am cross with you?" he asked.

"You really mean to ask me that?" Emma asked, her raised brow was delicately matched with the contrast of her soft whispered tone.

"You ought not whisper Emma, that is how rumour get started," he replied, surveilling the room quickly.

"I understand you may not wish to heap coals upon my head at a time such as this, but really if any can speak with good authority on the dynamics of your character and the attributes of your personality when you are unhappy about something, it is me. I claim with the fullest of confidence that I have single handily caused you more frustration that any other on the planet, and should know better than anyone the results! On this authority, I hold that your behaviour in leaving Highbury, all but ignoring me in your letters and not confiding to me or Papa your plans to let Donwell, indicate that you are angry with me—whether you can admit it or not. This is added to by the fact that unlike other times where I have made mistakes, you have given me no course of action or opportunity to amend things." Emma offered,

"Emma, hush," he spoke out, in a low tone, his gravely reprove just above a whisper.

No, she would not.

"No, I will speak my piece. You cannot imagine the burden I have felt. My dearest friend leaving to London without consulting me! Not that you need my permission, or would head my advice. But did you ever once think about me? Or the shock it would be for my father, and the embarrassment to me—to find out by chance from a passing stranger! I should never have believed it but from you. Did you not think at all about your friends? Did you not consider that we might miss you greatly? That I would miss you? And the anguish it would be for me once I realized that it was my fault; had I not escaped your good opinion through my thoughtless jib at Miss Bates, you would not have left," she pressed, staring at him, but he would not meet her eyes.

"If I had asked you Emma, what would you have said then?" He challenged.

"I would have said I could not bear it! If given time, I may have been able to think on it and deliver a more tactful answer but know that all of my effort would have gone into any response that did not end up with me begging you to stay,"

"Emma please," he asked again in a stern whisper, bidding for her silence.

"I speak for all of Highbury when I say your absence would be keenly felt; but most significantly for papa and myself; you are our closest friend. Papa could not believe it to hear it from me, and I had to own that I had written you to prove it. I wasn't sure how to explain it to Papa—I think I was most hurt by the fact that you did not ask me my opinion on it! If it had been your expressed wish to go, I would have allowed you without a single complaint. I know that sounds silly. I know I do not own you, but had you wished to leave I would not have acted in any way to prevent it. I only wish you happy and just now you cannot stand to look at me."

"Emma, stop."

"No, you won't admit it but I believe I understand why you left. I have also come to understand that it wasn't entirely because of your upset with me, which is some small comfort," she told him.

His eyes captured hers, his gaze seemed harsher than she remembered—it was almost as if he was daring her to continue.

"I cannot say you have my approval; but I would never advise you to act contrary to your heart. I do think it wise that you have removed yourself to think on it. I have always known you to be prudent man and I trust your careful consideration will lead you to the best course. I trust that while I may not agree with your choice, I do wish you to be happy more than anything,"

He was smiling then, "Emma, who is it that you are speaking of?"

"Mr. Knightley, I should not wish to say it publicly," she offered feeling unsure of whether she could stand his admittance at the moment; she had not intended to say quite so much.

"I don't think I can stand not to hear it, will you tell me if I permit you to whisper it?" he asked, still wearing a grin.

How could something that brought her such pain cause such a happy expression?

She leaned closer to him; feelings of overwhelming proportions hit her as his masculine scent met her nose. She was quite certain she would not be able to speak or scarcely breathe. She tilted her hand nearer to his ear. And lo' did everything about him ring through her with passion? Then, thinking of her lips closer to his ear than they were currently, brought her to intake breath suddenly.

She loved him too dearly to hear it. She did not think she was prepared for his answer and would not want to count on John a quick departure should her emotions fail her.

She stepped back, blushing hotly.

"I'm sorry Mr. Knightley; I do not feel this is the place for such a discussion. Do know that I will not share your secret," she told him, curtsying quickly and then leaving as quick as might be considered a reasonable pace.


	3. Chapter 3

Her mind had worked itself into frenzy after she and John had returned home. John had been his usually quiet self in the carriage back, and truth be told her mind began whirring at a breakneck pace far before she set foot back within the walls of Brunswick Square.

Had she said too much?

Should she have said more?

What was Mr. Knightley thinking now?

Could he have suspected her motives for shying away from the truth at the last minute last evening? Did he speculate on the reason why she was unable to reveal the name?

Had he taken note of the colour in her cheeks as she pulled away from attempting to whisper in his ear? Heaven forbid! Did he know her heart sped up to be so near to him?

She hoped no one else in the party had paid attention to her. Did others in the room speculate on her feelings?

Was love or worse jealous written across her face?

Did he know that it was fear of her own pain that prevented her from saying more? And that it was this same fear that caused her to shy away from him last evening?

The thought followed her home, and rolled around her mind long into the night. She could scarcely sleep—every thought was shifting around in her mind. The conversation with Mr. Knightley had been the focal point. She spun the sequence over and over again tirelessly, like a worker at a cotton gin—the thoughts were quick, repetitive and fully prevented sleep.

She shifted, tried to silence her imaginations running away with her and made every effort known to man to welcome sleep—Cook even made her warm milk just after the clock chimed midnight. Needless to say, sleep evaded her efforts for many hours.

When she did find sleep it was fitful and scattered with distressing dreams.

Mr. Knightley told her, "Yes, Emma, I do love Harriet,"

Her own father gave his blessing, "Isn't it wonderful? We will have our neighbour back very soon Emma! And with a new wife to think of, Mr. Knightley shan't ever be far from Highbury,"

"I love her, and Emma don't look so upset—you will not lose either of us as friends," Mr. Knightley assured her, looking as handsome as ever and his eyes were so sincere, she could feel her own heart breaking.

"And nieces! You might have more nieces Emma! At least John and I hope we get nieces, George always said Donwell & Hartfield should go to Henry," her sister added from the perimeters of the darkscape.

She shook her head violently in disagreement.

"No one could make me happier! Remember, you claimed you wanted that above all?" Mr. Knightley's voice echoed, sounding stern and perturbed.

She felt as if she was trying to run; but couldn't break free.

"Are you jealous, Emma?" Isabella asked critically from outside the frame of her vision. Emma felt as if she was being chased down a dark corridor.

Mr. Knightly laughed out, "You are jealous! Don't be so childish Emma, it doesn't become you," he laughed out again cynically.

She started awake. She was sweating and her chest felt tight, as if she wanted to sob but couldn't let herself.

She felt depressed and exhausted all in one instant. It was already day break, but she didn't feel like rising yet. She didn't want to see anyone. She wanted to burrow into the bed covers and hide out like a highwayman evading the law.

She was quite sure she did not want to see anyone from her dreams last night. It ruled out every one she knew in London but John and the children. Although, she supposed it wasn't their fault that their conjured figures had been so cruel while Emma had slept.

Mr. Knightley's words had been the most discouraging. She felt so disappointed. She had come to London with the express purpose of changing Mr. Knightley's heart and mind, and it seemed she was to fail abysmally. She thought while at Hartfield that she would want to know his thoughts and feelings, even if it was a disagreeable answer.

She realized suddenly, thanks in part to the dream last night, that she did not wish to know. What she really wanted, more than anything, was to be able to go on as before. And yes, it may have been predicated by the fact that he loved another, but at presence she wished for nothing more than to be his friend. Truly she could still love him from afar if he was her bachelor friend and neighbour. She could then sit near enough to hang on every word; that would be contentment enough; she could more than tolerate a life such as that one.

Yet, it was a possibility that only existed if he chose to remain unmarried. She could not see herself longing after the husband of another or listening with baited breath as his wife looked on. And truth be told, he would not have the luxury to be at Hartfield as often with a wife, or heaven forbid a family at home! She shuttered and pushed away the thought.

She spent a few hours trying to consider any options that might allow for her world to remain as before. She felt more distressed when she realized that she did not have any strong solutions to the problem at hand.

It was growing late in the morning, she resolved herself to dress for the day and then to venture to the breakfast room to eat a little; she wasn't sure her stomach could take much in her state of agitation.

Rounding the corner to the breakfast room she noticed John sitting with a paper, her mind tried to consider why he might not be at work. His paper shifted slightly, and she could see the slightest hint of his hairline, half of his left eyebrow and a part of his left cheek bone. He was blonder, had a sterner brow and a more accentuated jawline. His face she knew so well, perhaps better than she did her own, and he was not John Knightley.

She inhaled in shock, she was not sure she could handle seeing Mr. Knightley at the present moment. Not after she had dashed away from him last evening. Not after her dreams last night.

She took a slight step backwards.

What was he doing here anyways? Mr. Knightley had never joined them for breakfast, save for a Christmas gathering once where weather had kept him long than he may have wished. What an uncharacteristic hour of the day to visit anyone. What did he mean by it?

She took another small step away and the floor shifted under her foot.

"Oh, Emma you are awake! I was worried you took sick like Papa and I were yesterday evening," Isabella greeted her, looking fine as ever, and certainly not ill.

Emma felt with the lack of sleep she took last night, she likely looked more haggard than Isabella ever could—sickness, imagined or otherwise.

"I am well, I simply did not sleep well," Emma announced stepping into the breakfast room.

Mr. Knightley dropped his paper below his gaze so that she could see his face fully. He was as handsome, maybe more so than ever. She felt her heart sink. She ought not think of him in such a way, as his heart obviously belonged to another.

"Hmm, too busy scheming to take proper sleep? Is that it Emma?" he asked with a light teasing tone meeting her eyes.

She darted her eyes away quickly. "I don't know what you mean by scheming Mr. Knightley but it is true I did not sleep well. My thoughts were all about me and the sleep I did gain was interrupted with chaotic dreams"

"After you have taken breakfast, do you want to take a walk in the garden?" he asked, settling the paper in his lap.

She told him she would but it become clear that she dreaded it more deeply with each morsel of food she managed to choke down. Her mind was racing, trying to predict what he might be looking to tell her. Surely it was a follow up on the conversation, albeit one sided that took place last night. She needed to draw the right conclusions first; she needed to be prepared for what he would say so that she might school her features, mellow her reactions and emote in the correct way. It would not do to say the wrong thing or react poorly due to shock, how mortifying!

She could scarcely chew, let alone swallow her breakfast. Her mind felt muddled.

He would likely divulge to her what she already knew but could not bring herself to speak out last evening.

He was in love with Harriet Smith.

She played the memory of her dream over in her mind in an attempt to condition herself to what he would say.

" _Yes, Emma, I do love Harriet,"_

She wouldn't cry.

In her mind's eye she practiced schooling her features to take the news.

" _I love her,"_

She would not be furious with him for choosing wrongly.

" _No one could make me happier!"_

She would not defend herself or claim this to be false.

" _I do love Harriet,"_

She would not run away in grief, she would hear it and bare it as she must. She did not know how she would manage this, but knew she would somehow.

She would not condone the match, but she would not use her position as his friend to manipulate the situation in her own favour.

"Emma, you look pale, are you sure you are alright?" Isabella asked looking at her.

Emma's heart was in her throat, she nodded and took another bit of her breakfast, chewing mechanically and then trying to force it down with juice.

She was not sure she could handle it yet; but what choice did she have now that he had requested an audience with her, surly there was no getting out of it. She would have to be braver than she felt and rally somehow.

She could only manage to delay the inevitable. She ate at a leisurely pace, not simply because she struggled to take the food but also because while they sat in silence like this, she could prolong the time they had remaining. Things would not be the same once he spoke his piece, she knew that their friendship would never be the same again and there was nothing that she could do to change that reality. For now, they could sit here and just be friends.

She maintained this strategy for as long as was practical and then accepted the offer of the walk around the gardens.

She had intended to let him speak first but found herself starting in on the topic at hand as soon as they stepped out into the open air of the gardens.

"Mr. Knightley, understand, I do think her to be your inferior in every way and I cannot help but wish a better match for you. I never expected you to be anything other than a bachelor, I never expected you to be anything other than my close friend. I don't know how—I know our friendship would not remain the same and I don't know how someone is supposed to come to terms with that. That you will never be my friend as you are today-as you have always been and I do not believe I am prepare for that—nor will I ever be. So understand, amongst all the concerns that is one of them. And yes, it is selfish but anyone who knows me will permit, I have always been a little selfish. But I will not be so selfish as to deny you something that you care for, if it is true that you mean to marry her, if you do mean to marry Harriet, I will not stand in the way. I will not give my condolences, I will not give my approval, I will not endorse the match, I will not tell you it is a good idea, but nor will I counsel you to reject the feelings of your heart."

"Harriet Smith, are you kidding Emma?" Mr. Knightley gasped out. "You truly must be joking?" his voice stretched with the inflection of this tone, his eyes wide in shock.

"You cannot be serious? I cannot entertain that you are serious!" His eyes were searching her face, for a clue of some kind.

"And yet I see not a stitch of humour about you," he replied to his own questions with a crisp laugh.

"Mr. Knightley, do not tease me. If it is not her that you love, then I apologize that I was mistaken. But I have added together conclusions and they did indict positively in the direction of your feeling for Harriet " Emma offered

"Your conclusions! Emma! Jane Fairfax, now this? No, you are concluding completely wrong. I do not know which formula it is you use, but it is clearly not known for its accuracy. Galling humour maybe!" he retorted.

"So you do not love Harriet Smith?" Emma confirmed, trying not to dwell on her confusion and how she might have been so wrong.

"No! I do not love Harriet! And I have it on good authority that Mr. Martin is planning to make a second appeal. And if she has one whit of sense, and if you do not interfere, there is a good chance she might be very happy!"

"I have no plans to interfere," Emma told him, hardly believing that he was not jealous as the notion of Mr. Martin asking for Harriet's hand. She had believed so wholly in his affection towards Harriet that it was difficult to imagine him acting otherwise. "I cannot say that I know what her answer will be," she added cautiously taking in Mr. Knightley's demeanor carefully, "but I will not interfere in the matter," she promised.

She felt a warm wash of relief roll over her.

He was not in love with Harriet.

Her heart felt lighter than it had in weeks.

He could have been in love with Harriet.

She had been wrong, and it had never felt so wonderful to have been wrong before.

"Mr. Knightley, you have so eased my mind. I cannot express in word how much better I feel with this knowledge. All I can say, is that it is a wonderful relief," she beamed up at him, reveling in the luxury of being able to look at his face again without a feeling of impending loss.

"Emma, if there are ever things that are on your mind that you are unsure of please, rather than scheming, rather than imagining the worst, please just ask me. I am more than happy to put your mind at rest, I am happy to speak with you about anything,"

* * *

A/N: Thank you everyone for reading so far. I would love to hear from each of you in the reviews. Reviews literally make my day and I am going through a bit of a hard time right now. Seriously people are reading from all over the world, that is amazing-I love that Emma is enjoyed from Turkey to Austria to Singapore! It brings me warm fuzzy feelings and I would love to hear the different thoughts and voices from all over too!

I am hoping to upload again sometime next week but I won't turn down the extra encouragement and motivation sent my way.

Thanks all!

PrettyPet


	4. Chapter 4

She saw Mr. Knightley standing across the room, talking animatedly with someone she did not know. Watching him, she suddenly felt sheepish and more than a little ashamed. She had been purposefully avoiding him since their conversation in the garden three days earlier. The worst of it was, she was fairly certain he knew it too. She didn't really feel she had a choice in avoiding him; to be near him was to entertain a high degree of risk. She knew this to be true from the moment he had told her in the garden that he was more than happy to speak with her about anything; it had taken everything in her power not to tell him all straight away.

She had needed to bite down hard on her cheek to prevent the words from spilling freely, words that once spoken could never be undone. Fortunately, her famed stubborn will was able to prevent those words from spilling out. She had told him she felt Isabella may have been correct and that she was not feeling altogether herself. And then she made a point to prevent the same near disaster from taking place again.

She had even gone so far as to take dinner with the Gordon's middle daughter, to avoid sitting across the table from him last evening. It was foolish, and she knew her plan of evasion was not far-sighted; but she needed to believe she would not share all with him in a poorly chosen occasion. She would need her every resource, skill and bit of tact, after all tact was essential matters of the heart. These matters were fickle and required even more thought that other matters and as such it was paramount that it not be left to be blurted out without care or digression. Emma was convinced the proper moment would present itself and it would be a grave error to speak up until then.

If the confirmation from him that he was not in love with Harriet reduced her anxiety, then watching him as he spoke to a young man and three young ladies did the opposite. The sudden thought was that each of those ladies must have some form of interest in him.

The thought struck. Perhaps they love him the way that I do.

But it was challenged swiftly. No, no one could love him the way that I do, perhaps in some other way but not in the same way. If anyone else loved him it could not be with the same ardor, for she was certain she had loved him all her life, in different forms of the word. Like a river steam, shallow at points, deeper at others, fast moving and swift or childlike and bubbling or slow and lulling in other places. Yes, she had loved him is a myriad of ways since her earliest memories and others would not have this form of longevity or experience.

But the inner voice did nothing to help discern his feelings. If he was not in love with Harriet Smith, then it was still entirely possible that he was in love with someone else. Why else might he quit to London with such permanence?

It was on these thoughts that Isabella came over to her. Her sister looked livelier than she had seen her in many seasons, likely due to the fact that a nanny was home with the children and her dear sister was not indisposed with some illness or other and therefore free for the evening.

"Emma, you must meet the Harris', the eldest Gordon daughter and the Coleridge's" Isabella insisted. It was so unlike Emma to have been outside of the social centre and so unlike Isabella to be to connection maker in a social circle, Emma almost couldn't reconcile the notion.

Emma nodded her agreement. It would be best for her to have some occupation apart from thinking of Mr. Knightley.

It was no sooner that she had entertained the thought than she was guided to stand next to Mr. Knightley and the group surrounding him. Isabella whispered something the Mr. Knightley who nodded as she stepped away. Isabella presumably was off to find John, perhaps to persuade him to dance with her.

"May I introduce Emma Woodhouse—Emma you have before you the Harris' twins, Thea and Edwin, Edwin is married to Mary nee Coleridge—this is Hyacinth Gordon—you have met her sister Cressida already, and to her left you will see Elizabeth Coleridge,"

"The sister, it is so lovely to make the acquaintance!" Elizabeth Coleridge exclaimed.

Emma smiled; Isabella must have told them something about her.

"Miss Emma Woodhouse it is so delightful to meet you. We have been told so much about you by your brother Mr. Knightley and your own dear sister; it is so wonderful to finally have a face to go along side it!" Hyacinth Gordon added matching the zealous tone of her friend.

Emma felt suddenly the desire to make the correction. Mr. Knightley was not her brother. She desperately wanted to challenge the idea, to protest 'I'm not Mr. Knightley's sister!'

But she felt it impossible to do so. And yet it was annoying and startled up a whole sundry of thoughts.

' _He doesn't think of me as his sister, surly?' she asked herself._

' _Maybe as a friend-only, but surly not a sister' she thought._

' _I had not ever considered to be reduced so far as to that of a sister—could there be a worse title considering the object of my designs!'_

' _He mustn't think of me as his sister, surly he does not, does he? Is it remotely possible? He cannot, we have never acted in the way of siblings.'_

' _We have acted in the way of close friends. I had never figured the adversity in the form of a title—who would have guessed a single word could cast such doubt! For surly I could stand and work within the role of friend to win Mr. Knightley's true affection, but never within the title of sister. The word sister, there is no hope,"_

She realized then that the party was still talking, around her—and she had hoped that she might have nodded at the correct places and offered the right words despite the distraction of her mind.

"I am pleased to meet you all," Emma smiled, putting as much charm in the action as she was able. "Mr. Knightley might you dance with me? You'll remember this is my favourite song at present,"

"You wish to join midway through the song?" he asked her, not critical but instead with a hint of mirth.

"Well, only if you will also agree to dance the following song, even if it is a waltz—as I know you do not like waltzing but I do and everyone knows that half a dance is hardly sufficient even if it is to one's favorite song. And as I love dancing I certainly do not wish to be short changed—do you agree to the terms Mr. Knightley?"

"Have you been studying law from John's books Emma? You certainly make a strong argument, shall we?" he asked offering his arm.

She nodded, and they parted ways from the group.

It was quiet initially between them save the music playing.

"I would think you are simply enjoying the music, except for the way you are biting slightly at your lower lip." Mr. Knightley commented.

Emma pursed her lips and then tried to think of the words.

"There is something you wish to say and you aren't sure how to say it—see clearly I know you too well," he remarked, turning swiftly as the dance directed and Emma stepped awkwardly—seemingly not knowing the steps despite having danced them a hundred times.

"Too well, Mr. Knightley?" she asked her eyes wide.

"Yes, but unfortunately not well enough to read your mind, until then it means you will have to tell me what is on your mind," he offered.

"Mr. Knightley is it true? Do you think of me as a sister?" She asked him suddenly, finding no subtle or better way to ask it. Anxiety built up and she felt the urge to keep talking then as if to prolong his answer. "I have not thought of you as a brother, maybe as a friend –of—of course as a friend but never as a sibling. Is it true that you think of me as that?" she asked.

"Emma? What is with your question?" he asked with a sharper tone—she was not expecting it—his voice rarely took on a sharp edge with her.

"Well, the Coleridge girl addressed me as the sister and at first I thought she was talking about my relation to Isabella but then I realized they were talking about me and my relation to you. The Gordon girl specifically referred to you as my brother! But you are not my brother Mr. Knightley and I have never thought of you as my brother. In fact, I have never been one to think of myself as sibling to anyone but Isabella."

"I did not think you would take it harshly Emma," he replied, "and if you have taken offense from their words, I am sure they did not mean it that way," he offered.

"I'm not sure," Emma stated and then with a deep sigh added, "You must know Mr. Knightley, I do feel keenly jealous."

"Jealous?" he asked.

"More than just that, keenly jealous of anyone who is in your company and I fear that they will someday own you. That while we are now friends, in time it will do me no good to be your friend—in time you will have a wife that wants you near her. She will have a monopoly on your time and rightly so. And jealousy does not become me, Mr. Knightley—it makes my mind do silly things. I could not bear to have you not my friend and I think that when they refer to you as my brother and to me as your sister, I think it reinforced the idea that surly they must have designs on you. As it would be in their best interest to think of me as a sister and not a good friend, because a sister will always be a sister but a friend may grow to be something more. Nobody wants competition. Nobody wants a pretty, young, heiress to be best friends with their bachelor prospect. And for their piece of mind they will say to themselves and to others that I am your sister—it must be of some comfort and perhaps if we are told enough we will also come to think of it their way. This allows them not to think of you as a match for me. Mr. Knightley why is that so absurd? Am I to never be a match for anyone? Many have said it and you would own it yourself that you are the closest match for me in all of Highbury. And you would have thought that too, the only match maybe, until Frank Churchill arrived—then you may have thought differently—even if the thought was a begrudging one. Now you must think as I do that you are truly the only one. But Mr. Knightley I am afraid it goes beyond that. I am afraid that I feel for you more than I should as a friend. "

"Emma" his voice was impossibly soft, but she did not want his comfort yet. She needed to place the whole picture before him for her own sake.

"Do not try to dissuade me from speaking the truth. I shall very likely need comfort later but it may be best if it is not from you. For first I must own Mr. Knightley that I have found myself to be in love with you and I came to London with the express purpose of trying to convince you—through actions rather than words but I fear I have failed. I have arrived at the conclusion that I must just say it and at very least gain the freedom afforded by honesty. And it you are angry, if you think it is silly, if you have thought of me all this time as a sister" a shutter role through involuntarily "then— well, then—I am sure in time my heart will recover. As you said yourself, time heals all wounds. If these things are true then I merely ask that you would not chastise me for it, and where it is possible that you would not bring others in front of me, knowing what you now know about my feelings."

"It is impossible that I could love you—is that really what you believe Emma? For that is what your tone and words betray, gone is the stubborn creature so tenacious that the word 'no' would not be taken as a complete answer. From your words I gather that you wish to unburden your heart and mind but see no future before you, save a lighten state of mind," Mr. Knightley commented.

"Mr. Knightley, I have expressed my entire heart and soul before you—I cannot tolerate to be teased about it,"

"Emma, I regret it." He began but he shook his head when her eyes widened. He should have known she might be ready to jump to all sorts of conclusions. Her eyes looked that of a horse about to bolt. His grip came to her upper arm to hold her gently in place, "hear me out, you'll not regret it," he promised the hand at her back began to rub a soothing circular pattern. "I told Mrs. Weston once that I should have liked to see you vexed and doubtful of love's return. I even said it would be good for you. Dearest Emma, how I have come to regret those words—I certainly did not consider what the effect might be, for my heart can hardly bare to see you so broken and unsure of yourself. And in all the years I loved you but had not recognized the sentiment and even since becoming aware of my feelings, I never entertained it would be me to render the disquiet this feeling has brought you. I never speculated that my love I would be unrecognizable to you. Oh, the deal of pain this might have save us both if for knowing each other so well, we would have been able to know ourselves but a little and see love as it appeared before us in the eye of the one we held dearest! Dearest Emma, I love you and I have been waiting for longer than I can ever remember to have you love me back."

She wiped back tears she hadn't known had appeared until her vision blurred slightly. "Oh, you see I think that was just the problem, having known each other so well, and loved for so long it wasn't all together obvious when the form of love had changed. It is exactly like a river, but I will explain the idea to you later, for now we must dance to my new favourite song," Emma pronounced happily, no, happy did not even come close to describing it. She would need to dream up a new word to describe this moment but for now they would dance.

* * *

A/N: There you have it! It has been ages, I have had the ending written for at least a year, all but on paper (don't worry I wasn't holding out on you!)

I was focused on my Emma other story and then with the lack of reader interest I decided I needed a break and shifted to this one with the intention of finishing it. I added a Gone with the Wind piece as well, for anyone that likes that pairing. I might look at writing more for Death Comes to Hartfield but likely not this week.

Cheers!


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